


bigger than these bones

by depthsofgreen



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-10
Updated: 2015-07-10
Packaged: 2018-04-08 16:47:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4312716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/depthsofgreen/pseuds/depthsofgreen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The second time Alana encounters Margot Verger, it’s entirely by accident.</p>
            </blockquote>





	bigger than these bones

The second time Alana encounters Margot Verger, it’s entirely by accident.

She’s wandering the halls of Muskrat Farm, walking off the slime of another conversation with Mason Verger. Her stalking about would be unwelcome, she’s sure, but he’s in no state to stop her. 

She’s passing a row of opened rooms, each darkened and abyssal inside, when she feels a pair of eyes on her. She turns quickly, hips burning with the movement, her hand gripping the cool handle of her cane tightly. 

Alana peers into the room nearest her and makes dead eye contact with Margot, clothed in loose-fitting black pants and an emerald green sports bra. Her dark hair hangs lightly from a low ponytail and a heavy lethal-looking weight is clenched in her fist. Bright blue eyes fixed on Alana, she raises the weight and lowers it again, the near-imperceptible grunt of effort at odds with the beads of sweat rolling down her temple and bicep. 

The Alana of ten months ago would have apologized for the intrusion, for walking freely through a home that isn’t hers. The Alana of today stands still and silent instead, hovering just outside the door with a boldness that once would have shocked her. 

Margot finally acknowledges her with a subtle head tilt, the weight in her hand lifting once more. Sweat runs still more freely down her face, but she’s as composed as she’d been on the stables. 

“I suppose this could be an entrance of yours too,” Margot says, pausing to drop the weight and lift again. “If you want it to be.” 

Her voice is hard to read, lacking the coy flirtatiousness of their first meeting. 

Alana only smiles, breaking eye contact to focus on the labored up-and-down of Margot’s arm. It’s slender, the small muscles straining with each lift. 

“I didn’t take you for the bodybuilding type,” Alana observes, eyes flicking up again.

Margot laughs, a low and bitter sound. She drops the weight to the hard floor beneath her with a quiet thud. 

“I’m not, really,” Margot stands up, taking a few steps toward Alana. There’s still several feet and a doorway between them, but Alana feels goosebumps tingle up her arms beneath her blazer. “I didn’t get to spend a lot of time being active after the surgery. First the physical recovery, then the mental one…” 

Alana nods and doesn’t pretend to not know what surgery Margot is referring to. 

“I’m just trying to get my body back, I guess,” Margot continues. Her voice is flat, but quavers slightly. 

Alana shifts, suddenly acutely aware of the burning still deep in her hips, the stiff discomfort in her legs. Her cane feels heavier somehow, its handle icy-hot against her palm. She watches Margot watch her grip on it loosen. 

“Is it helping?” Alana asks, partly out of curiosity and partly because she wants the focus off of her again. “Helping you get your body back?” 

“I don’t know,” Margot breathes, the tilt of her mouth sharp. “Is this helping you with yours?” 

“This?” Alana thinks she knows what she means, but wants to hear her say it. 

“Working with my brother,” Margot clarifies, a hand moving to stroke her own wrist. The unmistakable glint of intrigue on her face betrays the calculated indifference in her voice. 

“Yes,” Alana decides, the syllable heavy and purposeful against her teeth. 

Margot considers her for a moment, lips pressed tightly together. 

“Good,” she says finally, something like amusement in her voice. “Well, I’m due for a shower.” 

Margot’s eyes remain fixed on Alana for several prolonged seconds until she turns on a heel, moving deeper into her room. It’s an invitation, Alana realizes. 

Alana smiles but stays put. If Margot is disappointed as she closes her bathroom door behind her, Alana can’t tell.

*** 

The next time Alana finds herself alone with Margot is after one of their now-routine “Hannibal Hunting” meetings led by Mason. 

Margot had been unusually silent throughout. She’d given off the confused air of someone both profoundly bored and sharply attentive, standing stoically in a corner with her hair pin-straight and tucked behind her ears. She’d fled the room at the earliest opportunity with a huff more perceptible in her face than in her voice. Mason had seemed either unaware or disinterested, and Alana felt compelled to follow her. 

Margot makes it halfway down the hall before she hears the loud rhythmic clatter of Alana’s heels against the floor. She turns to face her, purple-painted lips twisted in noncommittal annoyance. 

“Everything okay?” Alana asks coolly as she settles steps away from her, back straight and face open. 

“Everything’s perfect,” Margot smiles sardonically, eyes narrow. Her arms cross defensively under her chest. 

The corner of Alana’s mouth quirks up, an eyebrow moving with it. She’ll wait. She can always tell when someone needs to talk despite all appearances to the contrary. 

Margot sighs, arms dropping. She takes a few steps back, settling against the wall. Alana moves forward, too, cautiously. 

“I was just standing in there when I made the realization that this will be all my life has to offer,” Margot closes her eyes as if ashamed of her own admission. “Standing in corners as my brother garbles orders.” 

Margot opens her eyes, head falling back against the wall behind her. 

“It’s fine,” Margot intones with that deadened quality Alana has come to associate with her. “It’s better now than it was. With my brother...restrained, as he is.” 

“It’s not fine,” Alana speaks finally, voice tight and validating. “You feel trapped. Anyone would. I feel trapped, sometimes, just watching you.”

“Do you do that often?” Margot’s eyes are bright with mischief. “Watch me?” 

“Yes,” Alana answers without pause. “But you’re deflecting.” 

“Nothing gets past you, Dr. Bloom,” The sentence would be mocking on paper but Margot’s voice is fond and warmer than Alana has ever heard it. 

“I’m not your psychiatrist, Ms. Verger,” Alana quips back, a hand settling flat on the cold wall above Margot’s shoulder. 

“What are you, then?” Margot asks, breathy. Her eyes are shifting back and forth quickly, carefully surveying Alana’s face. It isn’t until this moment that Alana realizes just how much closer she’s stepped toward her over the course of their talk. 

“I’m the one who’s going to get you out of this.” 

The sentence is steady coming out of Alana’s mouth. She drops her cane to the ground to settle the hand not already against the wall on Margot’s waist. 

“My savior,” Margot whispers, sarcastic until Alana’s lips are on the tender skin of her neck, open-mouthed and licking.

Alana tightens her grip on Margot’s waist as she works her neck, emboldened by the speedy pulse between her lips and Margot’s increasingly vocal exhales. When Margot’s back arches, breasts and torso pressing up against Alana’s own, Alana pulls back, pausing just a moment to admire the lipstick-smeared ruddiness of Margot’s white neck. 

Alana’s hand moves to the neckline of Margot’s dress, the flowy black fabric of it conveniently held together by a long zipper down the front. She watches Margot carefully for any signs of discomfort. Margot’s breath hits her cheek in quick hot bursts and Alana sees only open-lipped anticipation on her features, so she takes the cool metal of the zipper between two fingers and pulls down in one fluid motion, grinning when Margot gasps, cold air hitting bare skin. 

Alana cranes her head, lips pressing against the untouched side of Margot’s neck, hand slipping down into the lacy roughness of her underwear, the skin and hair beneath it soft. Margot’s thighs part and Alana’s hand works in downtempo tandem with her mouth, teasing Margot from above and below. 

When Margot stutters out a fragmented “please” Alana slips two fingers inside her, pulling her mouth back to look down at her hand moving quickly against and inside, Margot hot and soft and wet around her, moaning brokenly into her ear. 

Margot comes with a spasm and a muffled cry, body tensing then sagging back against the wall, gasps slow and deep. Everything in Alana wants to keep moving, to elicit that reaction again and again and again until tears of untempered bliss stream down Margot’s reddened cheeks, but she pulls out, dropping both her hands to her side. 

Margot stares down at her, eyes wide and disbelieving, lips parted, the purple lipstick painted onto them still neat despite the thin sheen of sweat covering her face. 

“You’re welcome,” Alana smiles, bending painfully to retrieve her cane. 

Margot’s hands drop to the button of Alana’s pants, toying with the hem. Alana shakes her head. Not now, she thinks. 

“We could move to my room,” Margot suggests, words throaty. “It’s just down the hall, as you know.” 

“I have business to attend to,” Alana says. There’s no regret in her voice. Almost formal. 

Alana smirks as she zips Margot’s dress back up, slow and teasing, pleased to see Margot smirking back despite Alana’s gentle rejection. 

She turns to leave without another word, and it isn’t until she rubs her fingers together to relish the lingering wetness that she realizes her mouth never touched Margot’s own. 

*** 

It’s a few days later that Alana finds herself waiting outside the room she knows to be Margot’s. The room is open but unoccupied, so Alana waits.

Her thoughts trail to the same place they always do, windows and shattered glass and liquid darkness, and when she spots Margot finally moving toward her, hair in long braided pigtails and riding boots on her feet, Alana has never been happier to see her. 

“Alana,” Margot says by way of greeting when she reaches the room’s threshold. It’s the first time she’s used her first name, and thrill ripples through Alana in a forceful wave. 

“Margot,” Alana replies. Without further hesitation she moves forward and reaches up to cup her face with her hands, lips pressing against Margot’s, the kiss soft and almost chaste. 

It’s Margot who pulls back, the dark red of her lips curving into a smile as her eyes slide slowly down Alana’s body.

“Do you want to come in?” Margot asks, one leg already inside her room. Her eyes are electric, hope palpable with no self-consciousness. 

“Yes,” Alana answers, feeling changed as the word hits the air. 

Margot smiles widely and steps inside, and finally Alana follows her.


End file.
